


revising formula

by quietsymphony



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, OKAY LISTEN, but if i fucked up please tell me, hinted rosa/gina, in a geNTLE WAY, it had to be a soulmate au i'm a sucker for a soulmate au, look idk much but i do know that i live for these dorks okay, this is my first ever fic please be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietsymphony/pseuds/quietsymphony
Summary: There's some sort of fire running through her, maybe it's nervous energy, jitters, but somehow it feels...different than that, strange even.__________________________________________Amy Santiago's first morning at Brooklyn's ninety-ninth precinct.





	revising formula

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from mE bc i wrote this in chemistry when i was supposed to be u guessed it: revising formula lmao i'm a genius (no i'm not i wrote this and don't understand chemistry at all help me)
> 
> anyways constructive critcism is welcome u guys
> 
> also i listened to like real people do by hozier while doing this because hozier gives me life okay enjoy these dorks bc i sure do

Amy Santiago wakes up at 5:58 on Monday morning, exactly two minutes before her first alarm goes off. She had even went and set it earlier than usual, yesterday evening, just to make sure that her first impression was a positive one. She's nervous, and she knows it, because her heart is in her throat.  
But now, she continues. She distracts herself from the feeling consuming her and gets dressed (her strategically planned outfit* shows professionalism, she reckons), eats her breakfast (because it's the most important meal of the day) and brushes her teeth (several people have commented on her "flawless technique").

And then she just sits. She has an hour left until she gets there. Plenty of time to think. There's some sort of fire running through her, maybe it's nervous energy, jitters, but somehow it feels...different than that, strange even. It's certainly something she hasn't felt before. She sets out the door, with her bag packed for every possible situation, tries to forget the unidentified distraction.

• • •

On the subway, she tells herself, "Amy Santiago, this is your year. This is your year. This is your year." She hasn't managed to convince herself quite yet, but there's still 38 minutes exactly until she reaches the ninety-ninth precinct. She's calculated her journey, having taken into consideration delays of up to 20 minutes, and luckily, none have been encountered. She's fairly confident that she'll begin to believe her mantra by the time she arrives at her destination.  
Yet she can feel in her head the energy that she's trying to shrug off. It burns even brighter, hotter than it has before, and it's psyching her out a little. Her first day, sure, she's nervous, but she's had bigger first days than this. 

And there's an old lady sitting before her, her face sweet, but looking like it's weathered a thousand heavy storms, lines cutting deep, like the lines a fortune teller might read on one's palm. Her silvery eyes shine clear, youth peeking through them, and it startles Amy, but somehow calms her at the same time. There's a sudden halt, and the lady gets up. Not looking back, she exclaims, "good luck," and somehow - somehow Amy knows it's directed at her. How she can tell? Amy doesn't know. She accepts the energy flowing through her.

• • •

 

Arriving at the ninety-ninth precinct in Brooklyn is a lot less nerve wracking than she originally felt. Terry Jeffords, who looks to have the figure of the famous ancient Greek statues, specifically, that of the Colossus of Rhodes (she would know, saying she studied Art History), turns out to be a gentle giant, a Hagrid-type figure. She's comfortable. She's been introduced to everyone, Rosa, who looks like she's ready to kill someone at any time of day, Charles, a massive foodie, who fawns over Rosa constantly, according to Gina, the civilian administrator who knows everything, everyone, and whose hand is apparently glued to her phone. Amy swears that she hasn't seen her take her eyes off of it once in her entire time here (except maybe to talk to Rosa, when the rather intense woman stomps over to her desk). Scully and Hitchcock seem to be attached at the hip, and from what the others have told her, are "really gross, Amy. We just don't. Associate. With Scully and Hitchcock." (Again, Gina.) Captain McGinley seems to just not care. 

• • •

However comfortable she is with everyone, for some reason, she still feels restless. There's something there. Something she just can't figure out yet.

• • •

It's over thirty minutes after she's met everyone, at least she thinks it's everyone, when she hears a cacophony of noise erupt from somewhere.  
She doesn't see anyone jump up in surprise, or go to investigate, but their faces have perhaps a hint of annoyance, maybe bemusement that wasn't there before. Had she imagined it?

That's when the elevator door opens, and she sees someone rather dishevelled, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, but his eyes - they're deep and dark and have a depth of colour, and she wants to sink into them and -

And Amy Santiago, tough, resilient and strong, realises her hands are shaking, because not once in her life has she seen a colour other than those of the black, white or grey variety.

He calls out across the bullpen to Rosa, greeting her, surprisingly not getting the same closed off response that everyone else seems to elicit from her (apart from Gina, but for some reason this doesn't surprise Amy).  
And he hasn't noticed her yet, which she is thankful for, because she doesn't know what to say - what do you say to your soulmate?

But Rosa indicates her to him with a casual throw of her head, and he turns, and so too does she.  
She can't face him, not yet. She needs time, time to think, to breathe, to plan, because she will never face any situation without a pla-  
"Hey newbie. I'm Jake Peralta," comes a bright, clear voice from behind her, she turns slowly to face him, revising the formula in her head that will allow her to talk to this person.

"Amy Santiago," she exclaims as confidently as she possibly can, and when he makes eye contact, it's clear that his whole world is tumbling around him, and reconstructing itself in ten thousand glorious and beautiful ways that tell her, perhaps, she doesn't need to revise formula when it comes to Jake Peralta. Perhaps she'll be okay.

No, she corrects herself. They'll be okay.

• • •

A couple of miles away an old lady moves briskly along to her next assignment. She smiles contentedly.

**Author's Note:**

> *pantsuit
> 
> the old lady? not even i know heck i never know. idk....like fate or something okay
> 
> u can find me on instagram @bisexualleia and on tumblr as anextraordinarylie
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
